


stay

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: SASO 2017 [5]
Category: Prince of Stride: Alternative (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, Gen, sibling feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: In which Tomoestays, and deals.





	stay

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 1: AUs | [originally posted here](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=11042834#cmt11042834)

“Are you Yagami Riku’s brother?”  
  
Tomoe’s fingers catch themselves, mid-knot. He exhales, lets the ends of his shoelaces fall, and looks up.  
  
“Fujiwara,” he greets the interloper, quiet.  
  
Fujiwara’s taken out his contacts, put on his glasses again. His gaze burns like dry ice behind the lenses. It is his question that stings more, lonely, resonant.  
  
“Why isn’t he in the Stride club?”  
  
Tomoe slings his duffel over his shoulder and stands. Fujiwara’s tall, but Tomoe’s got an inch on him and an unfair headstart of a few years’ more guilt. A whole lifetime’s worth, when he really lets himself sink into it. He is reckless when he runs, these days, and he hasn’t missed the worried looks that Heath keeps throwing him.  
  
“Do you know Riku?”  
  
Fujiwara looks away. “He’s in my class.”  
  
Tomoe waits. Fujiwara stands his ground, doesn’t elaborate, so Tomoe sighs, lets this go too, as he has let so many other things fall by the wayside. One by one, breaking at his feet like the torrential rain on that afternoon.  
  
“I can’t answer for Riku,” says Tomoe, finally. “Ask him yourself.”

 

* * *

 

Tomoe still goes home with Kyousuke. He knows Kohinata’s cooler towards him than he should be, knows that he has no reasonable excuses to offer, but he is used to it. This, he understands, and it is easier to swallow the _status quo_ than to unwind explanations, pick through the tangle of all their best intentions.  
  
Kyousuke’s on his bike, waiting for him outside the gates. He turns at the sound of Tomoe’s footstep, tosses him his helmet, and revs the engine as Tomoe slides into the backseat. The sun’s already setting behind the school building.  
  
“What took you so long today?”  
  
“Someone asked me about Riku,” Tomoe says.  
  
He’s not sure if Kyousuke hears him over the wind and the roar. He stares up at the fading light, wonders if Riku is home already, or still at one of the hundred other clubs he joined that wasn’t Stride. _I don’t care what I join, as long as it’s not Stride—_  
  
Kyousuke’s voice cuts low into his thoughts. “And what did you say?”  
  
“I said, I don’t know why he isn’t in Stride.”  
  
Kyousuke falls silent.  
  
In another time, he might have tried to dispense what advice he could; told Tomoe, _you just need to talk to him_ , or even been the one to talk to Riku himself, for Kyousuke’s always been the kinder person, the one to size up situations in a heartbeat. But in this time, neither of them are in any position to talk about breaching unspoken lines.  
  
Today, as he drops Tomoe off, he points out that the sky is overcast, and warns him not to go running tonight.

 

* * *

 

Tomoe takes off his jacket and goes straight into the shower. The door to Riku’s room is closed. There’s music playing from inside, drumbeats persistent and stubborn, and Tomoe pauses outside, his fist poised to knock before he drops it and turns back.  
  
He doesn’t see Riku till it’s past midnight. They bump into each other in the corridor outside the kitchen, Tomoe with a bottle of water in his hand, Riku with an empty bowl of Cup Noodles.  
  
Riku opens his mouth, closes it and pushes past Tomoe. Tomoe stands in the hallway for a moment. He is caught in between his irresolution and the cold snap that’s battering at the windows, in between melting winter and the break of spring, in between a hundred things to say and none at all.  
  
He thinks of asking Riku how his first week at school was, what club he joined; thinks of chiding him about the MSG in instant ramen, thinks of telling him about Fujiwara—  
  
But the hour is late, late for all of that now.  
  
_Goodnight_ , he murmurs, _goodnight_ , in a whisper that used to be enough to bridge the distance.


End file.
